


Jealous Guy

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:55:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1936527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ah, young love.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealous Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ComplicatedLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComplicatedLight/gifts).



> To wish ComplicatedLight a very happy birthday, and congratulations on joining the ranks of the landmark year!
> 
> With thanks to Lindenharp for BRing, and paperscribe for a very helpful suggestion.

“Ah, young love.” Laura’s face crinkles in amusement as she gazes across the car park.

Robbie follows the direction of her gaze, but only sees his sergeant chatting animatedly with Gurdip. No doubt discussing some new electronic toy or other that’s just come out and they can’t live without.

“Eh?” He turns back to Laura, frowning. “Who d’you mean?”

Her smile widens. “James and what’s his name. Gurpal?”

“Gurdip,” he corrects automatically. “You don’t mean...?”

“Oh, Robbie.” She sighs. “You’re not telling me you didn’t know?”

“Know what?” He stares at her, then back at his bagman. “James isn’t... Not with Gurdip! He’d never— Just... no!”

“Why’d you say that?” Her elbow jabs him. “And don’t stare, Robbie!”

Abruptly, he looks away. James has eyes in the bloody back of his head, and he definitely doesn’t want the bloke watching him watching the two of them. “Why not? Should be bloody obvious. Gurdip’s far too young for him, for a start—”

“You’re joking! He’s maybe seven, eight years younger than James. That’s nothing, Robbie.”

He huffs. “It’s unprofessional. James is a sergeant, and Sohal’s—”

“A civilian technical support officer. James isn’t his superior officer.” 

It’s still not right, Robbie wants to protest. James is still in a position to give Gurdip orders at work. But that’s not important. What’s important is that James would never... and it’s just not... Well, they’re not together. Laura’s just seeing things that aren’t there.

He glances covertly over at the two again. Bloody hell. Gurdip’s... stroking James’s arm.

* * *

Well, that explains why James said no the last couple of times Robbie invited him for a pint. But why couldn’t the bloke just have _said_? Besides, James has given Robbie enough of a hard time over Laura in the last couple of years. Only fair that Robbie gets a chance to wind James up for a change.

Except... he doesn’t really want to.

What he wants is to tell James that his choice of partner is inappropriate. That he has to choose between the relationship and his position at the station, and he has to do it now, before anyone else — specifically Innocent, but not only her — notices.

Yes, as Laura pointed out, Sohal isn’t a copper and James isn’t his manager — but those are technicalities, aren’t they? It’s just... not right.

James strolls back into the office, nodding at Robbie, and sits at his desk, immediately resuming work. A few minutes later, he swings around. “I see DS Farmer’s spelling is as erratic as ever. I can’t help wondering if he just closes his eyes and hits his keyboard at random.” 

Usually, he’d share in the joke. Today... “Not everyone has your advantages, Sergeant. I suggest you get back to work.”

James stiffens, then swings around to his computer again. For the rest of the afternoon, he’s studiously focused on his work, his back as rigid as a board.

And, at quarter to six precisely, he stands, reaches for his coat, then says a very formal, “Goodnight, sir,” and leaves the office without looking back.

* * *

At home, Robbie can’t focus on anything. It’s ridiculous. Just why he’s so exercised at the thought of his sergeant going out with a technical support officer makes no sense at all.

Leaving aside the work angle, Gurdip’s a decent bloke. He’s not the sort to use James as a stepping-stone to promotion, or even just as a convenient bed-warmer until he moves on. He’s not seducing him to cover up a crime, nor would he try to murder him in his sleep. They probably spend half their time talking about technology... and he doesn’t want to think about what they do with the other half.

Instead, he finds himself thinking about what he could be doing instead of trying to watch the most boring football match ever to have graced Match of the Day. In normal, Gurdip-free circumstances, he and James would have gone down the pub, and he’d probably have invited the bloke back for a takeaway and another beer. Somehow, James’s company, and his sarcastic observations, always manage to make even the worst of telly entertaining.

But he can’t begrudge James a social life — a _love_ life, he tells himself firmly. He’s the one who told James he needed to find a partner in the first place.

It just hadn’t dawned on him at the time how much his own life would be affected by it.

* * *

Things seem to be back to normal in the office the next day — at any rate, James is back to sharing amusing observations with him as they complete a backlog of CPS reports, and Robbie’s making every effort to show that he is amused. After all, as he’d reasoned to himself in the middle of the night, just because he’s losing James’s company outside work, there’s no reason why he has to alienate the bloke altogether.

It’s around two when James turns in his chair towards Robbie. “Sir.”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering, is there any reason why I can’t leave at five today? There’s nothing in particular you need me to stay late for, is there?”

Something seizes in Robbie’s gut. It’s not band practice, and James hasn’t mentioned any other commitments recently. He’s got to be doing something with Gurdip. 

As if he’s watching a scene from a film, Robbie hears himself growl, “Have you seen the amount of reports that have to be finished? You’ll stay as long as it takes.”

This time, James looks as if he’s been slapped in the face. It’s a moment before he replies. “Of course, sir.” He pushes his chair back. “If you’ll excuse me.” He walks out of the office.

Through the blinds, Robbie sees him stop at Gurdip’s desk, bending low to speak to the other man. Disappointment’s evident on the technician’s face, but he nods after a moment, and then James straightens — but doesn’t come back to the office. Going for a smoke, Robbie presumes, and he’s only surprised that Gurdip doesn’t follow. 

By the time James comes back, Robbie’s feeling guilty, and annoyed that James has put him in this position. He’s never been a curmudgeon; never thought that he’d end up behaving like Morse, treating his sergeant like his own personal slave and seemingly taking pleasure in wrecking his subordinate’s off-duty arrangements. Yet here he is, doing exactly that. And the only reason he’s doing it is that he doesn’t like who his sergeant’s going out with.

He sighs. The longer this goes on, the less work he’ll get done. “Hathaway.”

“Yes, sir?” James’s tone is politely formal again, and he’s only turned his head, not his entire body. 

“The reports can wait. You can tell Gurdip you’re leaving at five.”

Now, James does swing his body around so that he’s facing Lewis. “Sir...?” The shock in his eyes, obviously due to discovering that his boss knows about his love life, irritates Robbie a bit; has the bloke forgotten he’s a bloody detective inspector?

Robbie waves a hand impatiently. “Go on, tell him. Then can we get back to it?”

“Thank you, sir.” There’s genuine gratitude in James’s voice. He gets up again and leaves the room.

Robbie forces himself to get back to the report he’s been struggling with. He’s done the right thing. So why does he feel so bloody awful about it?

* * *

It’s all he can do not to scowl at Gurdip when he walks through the main office on his way to the loo an hour or so later. And he can’t stop thinking about having the bloke transferred to a different team. It’d be easy to do — one word to Innocent, and he wouldn’t even have to suggest that Gurdip isn’t up to scratch, either. He can give the lad a strong recommendation, but just say he’d be a better fit somewhere else. 

Then there’d be no issue with James going out with him, would there? 

_Don’t pretend that’s why you’re considering it_ , a voice that sounds far too like Laura’s for his own comfort says inside his head. _You’re being petty, Robbie Lewis_.

He deliberately makes himself give Gurdip a friendly nod on his way back into the office. Then, when James leaves at five, he looks up in acknowledgement. “Enjoy your evening.” He even manages to make it sound as if he means it.

* * *

Robbie’s working on the reports at home later when there’s a knock on his door around nine. It sounds like James, but it can’t be, surely — the bloke’s out with his _boyfriend_ , isn’t he?

It is James. The lad’s dressed casually — jeans and a blue shirt in some sort of shiny material. Is that the sort of thing blokes wear for going out with their boyfriends these days? He’d have no idea. 

He beckons James inside. “Beer?”

James accepts the bottle he hands him. “Thank you, sir. Erm... I apologise for intruding when you’re off-duty, but this is a conversation I thought it best not to have at work.”

 _Christ_. Robbie feels his stomach sink. This is because of the way he’s reacted in the last couple of days. James is going to say he wants another DI.

“Sounds like we should sit down for this,” he manages to say, and directs James to the table. It definitely doesn’t sound like a sofa conversation.

James sits opposite him, and immediately starts picking at the label on his bottle. Shit — it’s got to be bad. Well, the least he can do is make it easier for the lad. It’s hardly his fault Robbie’s been bloody unprofessional about James’s choice of partner. He could — and should — have handled things much better.

“Go on, man,” he says, tone encouraging. 

James lets out a long sigh. “I... realise that you know about Gurdip. I owe you an apology, first of all. And then... well, I suppose it’ll be up to you what happens next.”

“Yeah, I know about you an’ Gurdip.” Robbie frowns. “Go on.”

James looks down. “I should have told you, sir, and I apologise for that. I’m not his supervisor, so there’s no direct conflict of interest, but he’s part of the team and he reports to you, just as I do.”

“Yeah, you should have.” He did say it to Laura. And, god, he wants so badly to tell James that he can’t continue to see the other bloke. He could do it, too. He’s James’s boss. He’s entitled.

But he wouldn’t be doing it because of any conflict of interest, would he? He’d be doing it because he just doesn’t like the idea of James with Gurdip. And that’s petty and... and what? Selfish, isn’t it? Just because he’d prefer James to spend his free time with him.

He huffs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Make sure anything other than straightforward requests and information-exchange comes through me. An’ let me know about anything — and I mean _anything_ — that could be a concern. That way, if Herself finds out, I can tell her everything’s above board.” 

James blinks, then stares at him, eyes wide. “You... don’t mind, sir?”

Robbie wouldn’t go that far. “I’m hardly gonna tell you who you can and can’t have as a partner, am I? An’ I certainly don’t want to lose either of you to another DI. Be different if it was a DC on the team, mind. Or a PC.”

James nods, but he’s not looking happy. “Actually... I’m not sure the relationship is continuing. In fact, I’m certain it’s not.”

“Eh?” Robbie sets his bottle on the table and stares at James, hoping that the rush of relief he feels isn’t apparent. “What’s this all been about, then? I mean, why come an’ talk to me about it if you’re not gonna be seeing him?”

James’s shoulders slump. “Because it was obvious that you already knew. And that you weren’t happy about it.”

“Well, it’s irrelevant now, isn’t it?” Robbie glances away. “We’ll say no more about it.”

“Actually...” James says slowly, “I don’t think so, sir.”

“What d’you mean?”

Abruptly, James is looking at him with that assessing stare he reserves for suspects. The one that says _I know you’re lying to me._ “I didn’t put it together until just now, sir. But you didn’t really have a problem with me seeing Gurdip because of the potential conflict, did you? There’s another reason. And I’d like to know what it is.”

Caught off guard, Robbie can only look at him. And James is doing the perfect Sergeant Hathaway interrogation act, watching him with apparent patience, but with that steely-eyed expression that says he can wait all day if necessary, but he’ll get the answers he needs.

“Bloody hell, man!” Robbie objects. “I’m not a suspect!”

“I didn’t say you were, sir. I just said I’d like to know why you had a problem with me seeing Gurdip.” James’s tone is implacable, and his gaze doesn’t waver.

He could refuse to answer. He’s the DI here, after all, and James is his subordinate. He’s already ruled the matter closed. But it’s suddenly important that James knows he only had the lad’s best interests at heart. He wasn’t acting from some newly-discovered love of policies and procedures. 

He pushes back his chair and goes to the fridge for another couple of beers — never mind that James is barely half-way through his, Robbie wants another. “Look,” he says as he comes back, “Gurdip’s a nice bloke, don’t get me wrong, but... well, he just doesn’t seem — well, I wouldn’t’ve thought he was your type.”

James leans back in his seat. “And what exactly do you think my _type_ is, sir?” 

“Oh...” He can only be honest, he supposes. “Someone who likes the things you like — y’know, your music, an’ literature and history and things like that. Someone who understands your sense of humour an’ doesn’t mind when you’re being a cleverclogs. And who gets your smartarse quotes an’ stuff like that. And pints down the pub, I suppose — I mean, Gurdip doesn’t drink, does he?” He could point out that, to his mind, Gurdip’s too young for James — not in terms of physical age, but in attitude. James is an old soul, without a doubt. But he’s fairly sure that won’t go down well with his sergeant. 

His mouth turns down at the corners as he considers what else is important. “Someone who stops you running yourself down. You need someone who doesn’t just believe in you, but helps you believe in yourself — but the right way: subtle, like. Cause you don’t listen if someone comes right out an’ tells you.” 

James’s eyes have widened, and he’s looking faintly amused. “You could almost be describing yourself, sir.” The lad’s tone is sardonic, mocking... until it’s not, and he’s staring at Robbie as if the missing clue to a case has just appeared in front of him. 

It’s just appeared in front of Robbie as well — Christ, he was describing himself, wasn’t he? It all makes sense now. He didn’t want James going out with Gurdip... because he wants James himself. Not as a drinking companion, or someone to spend the occasional evening with — but as a partner. 

And, _hell_ , now James has realised it as well. Too late to say he was joking, or James has misunderstood, or whatever other excuse he might have been able to come up with; it’s clear as day that James knows. Course he does; they’ve been partners nearly seven years, and they know each other probably better than anyone else possibly could.

James is pushing back his chair now, and standing, and _crap_ , he’s going to leave, isn’t he? And tomorrow he’ll — what? See Innocent? Ask for a new Inspector, at least...

“You are, aren’t you?” There’s wonder in the bloke’s voice, and he’s walking around the table towards Robbie, not away from him. “You — _you_ feel... that... for me?” 

Wonder, and hope, and — Christ, _longing_ , and if James feels all that for him then there’s no bloody way that Robbie’s going to disappoint him. He stands and meets James’s gaze, taking in the hope warring with disbelief, and he nods. “Seems like I do. That all right?” 

“Very all right.” James shakes his head, as if trying to make sense of something mindboggling, and takes another step closer to Robbie. “I don’t think anything’s ever been more _all right_.”

He reaches out to touch James’s face with his fingertips. “Yeah? Think we can do better than that, can’t we?”

And James’s narrow face creases into a beautifully happy smile. “Oh, yes. Definitely.” He dips his head and touches his lips to Robbie’s, tentative and fleeting, and Robbie grips the back of the lad’s neck before he can escape, leaning in for a proper kiss.

It’s definitely the best use he’s found yet for James Hathaway’s smartarse mouth, without a doubt.

* * *

Later, on the sofa with James’s head in his lap, he asks the question he wanted to ask before but didn’t feel entitled. “What did you mean, the relationship’s not continuing? You an’ Gurdip, I mean.” Not that he _wants_ James to keep seeing Gurdip; of course not.

James strokes Robbie’s arm. “What I said. It’s over — not that it was ever anything very serious, anyway. We had dinner a couple of times, that was all, and then this evening we went to an open-air performance of _Waiting for Godot_.” 

“I know that one,” Robbie comments; another bit of culture courtesy of Morse.

“Gurdip didn’t,” James observes, and those two words say it all. After a pause, James adds, “What you want to know... he didn’t understand me. But that works both ways. I didn’t really understand him, either.”

Robbie reaches for James’s hand and gives it a squeeze. After a while, he says, “It’s not gonna be a problem, is it? I mean, you’ll still be able to work with him?”

“Course.” The confidence in James’s voice reassures him. “But, on the subject of work, there is one thing that concerns me...”

“Oh, yeah?”

There’s laughter in James’s voice as he says, “Isn’t there something of a conflict of interest here... _sir_?”

Robbie huffs. Yes, there is, and he’ll figure out a way to sort it. But for now... “Oh, shut it, you,” he growls, and bends down to take advantage of the best possible way to shut James Hathaway up.

It works, and James certainly isn’t complaining.

* * *


End file.
